Goodness Gracious Me
by CeliaEquus
Summary: Bucky has returned from war minus one arm, and thinks that having a therapist is a joke. Who could possibly understand what he's going through? Well, Dr. Phil Coulson might. Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any other Marvel thingummies, nor am I making money from this.


**Note: Obscure spoilers for 'Agents of SHIELD' season two finale, despite this being a non-powered doctor AU. Named after the Peter Sellers/Sophia Loren song about a patient being in love with her doctor.**

"Goodness Gracious Me"

Sitting side-by-side on the bed, Steve knocked his thigh against Bucky's, but Bucky couldn't find it in himself to elbow back. Couldn't even manage one 'Punk'.

"It'll be—" Steve cut himself off, clamping his lips shut, and Bucky knew why. Last time Steve said 'It'll be okay', Bucky had kinda tried to punch him, and yelled at him for two minutes straight about how it _wasn't_ okay, it would never _be_ okay, he's lost his whole left arm, goddamnit! At least Steve was making an effort not to keep spouting all the placating sentiments that were already driving Bucky nuts.

"No one's gonna be able to handle this," he whispered. "Or me, like this."

"I'm—"

"Here for me, I know, I know. But, no offence, I'd prefer to stay friends with you."

" _Best_ friends," Steve corrected. Then it obviously hit him. "You mean _romantically_."

"Duh."

"Y'know there's more to life than—"

"I know, I know," Bucky repeated. "But there wasn't much keepin' me goin' when the enemy had me an' I thought I was gonna die. Promised myself I wouldn't wait around if ever I got home. I…" He sighed. "I don't expect the white picket fence and the kids, not like I know you want."

"I won't let a relationship, or lack of one, define me," Steve said. "Neither should you."

"Nothin' to do with definition, and all to do with companionship. If I outlive you, punk, who's gonna go to my funeral? I guess there'd be your wife and kids, but no one of my own. Got no family, not since Rebecca up and left after Mom died, and didn't leave a forwarding address. It's just you and me and whoever you find." He looked down at the awkward temporary prosthesis, really just taking up space until he could get one of those fancy Banner-Stark ones which read the brainwaves, or whatever the science behind it was. Bucky couldn't bring himself to get excited about it.

In a terrible attempt at lightness, Steve said, "Well, with your medical kink, maybe you'll find someone here at the hospital?"

Bucky scowled at him, then back to the floor. "What, like a pretty nurse or doctor?"

"C'mon. All those years we spent in the army? You didn't once consider…?"

"Not with _you_."

"No, `cause that'd be like incest. But didn't you think—"

"Maybe. But who's gonna accept this?" He indicated his fake arm. "You know what the doctors said. It'll take a hell of a lot of work, even once the real prosthetic arm is on. It's not about getting a limb back. It's _never_ gonna be the same, and not many people will understand that."

"That's why they're assigning a psych… a therapist," Steve said.

"Nah, call a shrink 'a shrink'."

Steve made a disapproving face. There was the sound of a door opening and closing, but Bucky refused to look around.

"Sergeant Barnes, I'm Phil Coulson, and I've been assigned as your therapist."

Bucky exchanged looks with Steve, who squeeze his hand. The one that was still real.

"Hey, doc," he muttered. "How's life?"

Coulson sighed. "I understand how hard it is—"

"No, you _don't_! You don't… _None_ of you know what it's like."

"Bucky," Steve said urgently, staring over his shoulder at the doctor, his expression strange. What was _his_ problem? He knew Bucky could be short-tempered nowadays.

"Maybe not exactly," Coulson said dryly, "but I have some idea."

Bucky turned around to argue the point further, but his words and mouth dried up when he saw the doctor's own prosthesis.

"Oh," he said intelligently, before meeting the doctor's gentle blue eyes. Damn, he'd spent nearly his whole life being best friends with Steve Rogers, and he didn't understand the term 'kind eyes' until now. "H-hi."

Coulson cocked his head. "Hello," he replied.

"I'm sorry, doc. For what I said."

He frowned. "God, don't apologise. It's natural, the anger and frustration."

"But I was still an asshole."

Coulson stepped closer. "I grabbed a vial before it could hit the floor in the lab, about two years ago. Would've caused a hospital-wide explosion, that mixture of chemicals, so it was a good thing I got it in time. But the burns were extensive and the poison was spreading; amputation saved my life, and it was only part of my arm. You lost a whole limb in _service_ to your _country_."

"You saved lives, too."

"But I wasn't a prisoner of war, so the circumstances aren't entirely comparable."

"Yeah, but—"

"No, Sergeant Barnes. Please. That won't help you move forward."

He chewed the inside of his cheek. "What will?"

"That's something we can discuss," Coulson said, his gaze softening. "Your friend is welcome to stay. In fact, it helps to have someone else there, for when I can't be."

"When you can't…?"

"I _do_ have other patients. As a returned army vet, I'm going to recommend that you attend meetings with one of my friends, Sam Wilson."

"Oh!" Steve grinned, and Bucky inwardly groaned, knowing why. "I've been trying to get him to come to group, Doc Coulson. I know Sam, and I _know_ they'd get along."

"Well, it seems our prescriptions for you match," Coulson said, smiling tentatively at Bucky. He found himself smiling back against his will. Coulson looked like Bucky'd handed him the damn moon. "Now. Let's talk strategy."

"Strategy?" Bucky said, raising his eyebrows.

"We need a therapy plan for you. Not just a timetable, though that'll help until you find a routine that works best for you."

"Will I be… seeing you?" He ignored Steve's soft snort. Coulson nodded.

"I wouldn't be a very good therapist if I didn't see my patients," he remarked, and Bucky wanted to kick himself. "If you mean on a regular basis, then yes. At first. The goal is to reduce the number of meetings over time, especially if you go to Sam's groups, and if you find ways to distract yourself. Work, hobbies, friends… whatever suits you best and helps you heal. I'll be there for your appointments with the Banner-Stark reps. I might be called away for emergencies sometimes, and you'll have my contact number." He crossed his arms over his clipboard, holding it against his chest. "I won't be with you forever, and you need to learn, or rather re-learn, self-reliance. Obviously we encourage social interaction, and I suspect your friend," his gaze flicked to Steve, "wouldn't have it any other way."

"Damn straight!" Steve said. He seemed to have more spirit. Bucky couldn't blame him.

"It's nice to have someone there for you when things get hard," Coulson continued. "Not everyone's so lucky."

"Were you?" Bucky asked quietly.

"I was. A lot of flowers. Good thing I'm not allergic."

Bucky sniggered. "So what's the first step, doc?"

"First, you can call me Phil. Keep calling me 'doc' and I'll start calling you Elmer."

"Call me Bucky."

"Alright."

He grinned with every ounce of charm he could muster. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Coul… _Phil_ blushed, and Steve groaned, burying his face in his hands.

* * *

 **Okay. This was supposed to be a three-sentence fic, or maybe a 100-word drabble. Then it grew. *Face-palm***

 **Anyway, yay for doctor AU! Written for my new Tumblr, Arm and Arm, at phuckyarchive dot tumblr dot com. Hoping to have fellow Bucky/Phil fans join me on there for a bit of Phucky phun. (Oops.)**

 **Please review!**


End file.
